


The Watcher On The Walls

by iamthelordofwinterfell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jon Snow - Freeform, Stark - Freeform, Winterfell, the nights watch, the wall - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthelordofwinterfell/pseuds/iamthelordofwinterfell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Night's Watch takes no part...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watcher On The Walls

Jon Snow stood atop the wall, thousands of feet of ice beneath him. A chill wind blew from the North, the cold seeping into his bones, snaking icy fingers under his cloak. He shivered, his mind drifting back at that thought to the others with their haunting blue eyes like cold fire, fire that wanted you dead.  
He glanced behind him, scanning the deserted wall both ways. The night was clear, the air frozen and silent. Above him, a thousand stars whirled dizzily, winking like living things in the sky.  
'The Watch is mine' He thought, opening and closing the burned fingers of his sword hand. Longclaw's weight against his shoulder was reassuring.  
Jon stepped closer to the torch, although the light was blinding when the rest of the world lay in darkness. He sighed, grateful as some of the warmth seeped back into his bones.  
'Kneel, and rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell.' Stannis had commanded.  
And Jon had refused. The thought still made him slightly bitter, even as he saw Ghost prowl the length of the wall, his eyes the red of the weirwood, his fur white, as white as snow.  
'Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa.' He had said.  
But where was Sansa? He thought of her as he had last seen her, her auburn hair, the pretty gowns she had favoured, the gentle scent of lemon cakes that she carried with him. Although she had only ever referred to him as her 'half-brother' the thought still pained him. Sansa, gentle Sansa, so delicate at needlework, her courtesies perfect and unwavering. He flexed his sword hand. He knew she had been mistreated at the hands of the Lannisters. He knew the smallfolk were saying she had conspired to murder the boy king Joffrey, then vanished, carrying her guilt and treason with her.  
In spite of everything, he would not believe it for a second.  
Jon knew he might never see her again, that her heart may no longer beat as his did.  
Bran, Rickon, and Robb's deaths had been sudden, and shocking. The pain of that still ripped at his lungs, tore at him. Bran had been broken, crippled, what threat could he possibly have posed? And Rickon, four, and fierce, yet barely more than a babe. Robb, cut down and slain against the laws of hospitality that should have protected him. The desecration of his body, and that of his wolf. The Young Wolf, they had called him, the King in the North... His brothers.  
Eddard Stark's heirs. His throat closed with anger and revulsion at what the Lannisters had stolen from him once again.  
'The Night's Watch takes no part' He reminded himself. And yet, Robb had been more than his brother, his best friend. Bran and Rickon were his younger brothers. As a boy, he had always entertained notions of saving his father's life somehow, and finally earning his place as a Stark. He had failed in that. He was supposed to protect them, wasn't he? Wasn't he?  
He rarely let himself think of Arya, with her face so similar to his. Had the braavos blade, Needle, he had given her ever protected her at all? Was she still alive? He winced at the idea. He remembered how she had finished his sentences with him, mussing up her hair, calling her 'little sister'.  
He sighed. No matter what pain he was suffering now, Lady Catelyn's must have been worse. Her daughters lost, her sons murdered... They said a knife had been thrust through Robb's heart before her very eyes.  
Lady Catelyn had never been kind to him. But the fate that awaited her, her lord husband's, and their trueborn children had been unkinder.  
"Jon? Are you well?" The winch cable creaked as Sam Tarly stepped out. He handed Jon a cup of mulled wine, and he took it.  
"Yes, I was just... remembering." Jon said, realising how solemn he must have looked, gazing off into the night, lost in thought.  
It made no matter anymore. This was his home now, these were his brothers now.


End file.
